He Said What!
by SamuraiSal1
Summary: England's finally gone too far and won't be forgiven easily. Enter a very, very overprotective Canadian and what may very well turn out to be World War Three. USUK, sibling and friend overprotectiveness
1. Chapter 1

**There's been a recent rise in Anti-Americanism in England. Oh, dear. **

**XXX**

"If you'd just done what you were supposed to do in the first place, we wouldn't be arguing about this!"

"Well if you weren't, like, legitimately trying to find things to yell at me for, we wouldn't still be arguing about this, either!"

It had started over who had forgotten to replace the toilet paper roll in the downstairs bathroom. Add in America being too distracted over video games to assist his British love, along with said British love being irreducibly impatient, and you've got the perfect recipe for an argument. Not that they'd need one anyways.

"Jerk."

"Idiot."

"Limey."

"Yank."

"Redcoat."

That comment seemed to have done it. England's rather impressive eyebrows angled themselves to an almost comical point, though as America knew that look very, very well, he could rightly prepare himself for the onslaught of insults.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Man-on-the-Moon. Too busy picking fights with Russia to realize that the rest of the world is trying to make sure there isn't a chance of nuclear fall-out? Or perhaps I should bring up your invasion of Iraq, mn?"

And that seemed to have done it for America. He kicked things into high gear, rattling off a list on his fingertips.

"Freedom-hating, stuffy, obsessive-compulsive, fun-sucking, automatically-accusing-people-for-stuff-they-didn't-do, giant-eyebrow'd, stodgy, horrible-at-cooking—"

"You leave my cooking out of this! And besides, you're one to talk!"

"What's that supposed to mean? My cooking's great!"

"It's unoriginal, you dolt. You borrowed from other countries, and then you ruin their cuisine with grease and saturated fat."

"At least it doesn't taste like dried oats and sour milk, you overbearing, taxation-without-representation-allowing, failure at parent-hood!"

"Look who that's coming from, oh wise one. Need I remind you how your education system has screwed recent generations over? Or how about that recession that the rest of us now have to deal with? That's the second time you've done that, you know, and if I didn't know better, I'd say you were _trying_ to annoy everyone with your immaturity as a world power."

"Well if someone hadn't always been gone when I was a little kid, we wouldn't have had this problem, now would we?"

"I seem to recall a certain someone yelling at me whenever I entered the room, after the French and Indian War. Also, weren't you able to swing buffalo around as a child? How are you so unable to get your systems sorted out?"

"_Eyebrows_."

"Wow. 'Eyebrows'. Never heard _that one_ before. Can't you do any better? Or are you too stupid to make a comeback?"

"If I wanted to get some 'come-backs', I'd just ask France. But then again, he'd probably just give me yours!"

A short pause and a sharp intake of breath.

"Do you really think I'd cheat?"

"Just curious why France allowed it to be called the 'English' Channel, even when he did an equal amount of work on it. I guess I know now."

"Are you implying—"

"I'm implying that you want to take whatever you can get, since you're so desperate."

"That's saying a lot about what you think of yourself, you know!"

"Shut up! Americans actually have patriotism, which they celebrate July Fourth of every year by shooting fireworks and punching every British person they see!"

"Take that back, you wanker, or I'll show you just how cruel I can be!"

"Ha, is that your way of saying that you think I'm too much of a wimp to take it?"

A pause, and something in the tone had changed. England's voice was practically _feral_.

"Love, I know you're too much of a wimp to take every insult I could throw at you. Fair warning, then, mn? Can't have you crying before it's over," England paused, smiling dangerously at America, "I want to _enjoy_ this."

Half an hour later, England seemed to have abandoned even _pretending_ that he didn't want to hurt America long-term. As it was, he'd covered several of the same points multiple times, but it just didn't quite seem enough. So of course he had to nitpick the _one thing_ that had legitimately been proven to make America overly self-conscious, regardless of whether it was true or not.

"—And you're fat, too, you know. Bloody McDonalds is going to be the death of you, Lord knows I've tried to get you to stop, but no, it's always 'just one more hamburger, Iggy' and 'Pfft, as if the hero'd ever be less than perfectly fit!' Pah!" England spat, but his eye twitched—just once—in guilt, because yes, he knew he'd be consoling the other nation with as much ice cream as he bloody well pleased afterwards, yes, he knew he'd probably have to deal with a crying America—instead of a numbly shocked one like now—for the next several hours, and _yes_, he knew that there was a difference in insulting someone jokingly and taking it _that_ far. But, blast it all, America had asked for it!

"H-Hey, England… C-C… Could… could you st—"

"No, you bloody well asked for this, wanker, and you are going to as much of a lecture as I want to give you, is that clear?" England snapped, regretting it even as he said it.

And America bit his lip in the way that England knew he was actually about to start crying.

Several rather obscene phrases entered the Brit's mind right then, but none of them even had the chance to come out, as America was suddenly picking himself up off the ground and rushing out the door.

England blinked, guilt twisting at his stomach. Had he gone too far? It'd only been a half-hour, after all—

He glanced at his watch and found it stopped. It was then that he had the decency to check the clock on the microwave…

And found that several hours had passed since he'd started lecturing America.

…Oops?

XXX

Canada's perfect—_not_ lonely, thanks very much!—afternoon was interrupted by an all-too-familiar car pulling into his driveway and an all-too-familiar southern neighbor getting out of said car.

However, the expression that America wore was very decidedly _un_familiar. So before America even got out of the car, Canada knew that something was very wrong, and immediately dug out the rather well-loved blanket from an old storage closet and had it in-hand when America finally worked up the courage to ring the door-bell.

Canada opened it without a second thought, and it was with little reluctance that he let America launch himself onto him, with quite a bit more force than necessary. He led his brother over to the couch and promptly wrapped him in the old blanket, barely able to decipher 'thanks' from America's mostly-incoherent sobs.

However, when Canada found that his tears were actually leaking through both his hoodie and shirt, he decided that whoever had made his _freaking little brother_ cry would have approximately zero chance at forgiveness, and a ninety-nine point nine percent chance of being beaten to death with a hockey stick.

Gently, Canada coaxed America out of the cocoon of blankets he'd buried most of his head in—obviously aside from the parts that were soaking his _freaking hoodie and shirt all the way through_—to see his brother's face to decipher what, exactly, was going through his mind right then, since America was being pretty much incoherent.

Unsurprisingly, his eyes were puffy, but that really meant that he'd been crying for quite some time. He also seemed to have forgotten his bomber-jacket, which was worrying in and of itself—though, when Canada registered that 'Texas' was gone, too, he could only assume that those two items were together.

America's chin was quivering, too, in the way that really meant that it was definitely some_one_ that had made him cry, and that nothing Canada said could make him forget what they said or did…

"Was it Romano?" Canada asked quietly, somewhat awkwardly patting his younger sibling's back. At America's rather pitiful head-shake, Canada assumed it was a no. "How about Germany?" Another pitiful head-shake. "Russia?" Head-shake. "…Er, trouble with Mexico again?"

There was a shaky but verbal "No," from America, which at least helped Canada to know that he was getting over his cry-fest.

"Hm… Oh, what about… France?" Canada was privately steeling himself to launch an attack on his former care-taker had it been France, and was therefore relieved when America shook his head again. "W…Well, Austria…?" And, dang, he was running out of options.

"N…No, not one of them," America managed to say around the hiccups that were starting to settle in. "I…It's…"

"…England?" Canada bit out as a last resort. True, it was the nation that was most likely to yell at America (other than Germany or Russia or Canada himself), but England had freaking sworn that he'd stop taking it so far when they'd started dating.

Plus, for England to yell at Canada so much for making America cry it was rather hypocrisy if he was the reason for making America cry today.

So it rather surprised Canada when America started to sob again, harder than before.

And at that, the northern nation's eye twitched—just a little. But it was for reasons far different than England's guilty eye-twitch.

Because tonight?

Canada wouldn't regret anything, though England most certainly would regret every harsh thing he'd ever said to anyone. And England write his apology in blood. His own blood. And would never have the chance to say anything mean ever again in his life because he'd be terrified of Canada looming over him and ready to strike. No, England would never, ever, ever, ever, ever, _ever_ say anything so cruel to anyone, ever again.

_Ever_.

But first, Canada of course had to tend to America and find out every nasty thing that the frozen-hearted Englishman had had the _nerve_ to say to him. And he'd have to get America some hot chocolate. It was a proven fact that no one could be too miserable with hot cocoa in their hands, after all.

Well.

So Canada hoped, anyways.

XXX

"What do you _mean_ you don't know where he is?" England demanded, voice long past hoarse so he wasn't able to shout at the person on the other end—Lithuania—but the effect was there nonetheless.

"I do not know. I haven't heard from him for quite some time, as I've been rather busy of late. Have you tried Japan?" Lithuania asked calmly, though there was an undertone of worry that England didn't miss. _Well, good on Lithuania for caring about his previous employer_, England thought angrily. _It still leaves me wondering where on earth America is! _

"_Yes_, I've already tried Japan! He's the first nation I bloody called, you wanker!" England hoarse-shouted at the Baltic state.

"There is no need to take it out on Lithuania, _mon ami_, he is just trying to help," a decidedly French accent said calmly from England's side.

As France had been not-so-secretly eaves-dropping on England for the past half-hour, as the island nation called nation to nation in a somewhat desperate scramble to find out where America was, France was fairly certain of what the situation was.

"I know!" England said somewhat desperately. "I know, all right! But," he cursed, "America is the only thing decent in my life, the only thing that's ever been one hundred percent worth it! I need to find him an apologize, else I don't know what… I don't know what I'll do!"

France sighed and laid a hand on England's shoulder, for once in a genuine comforting manner. "You will find him, I am sure. Have you tried calling Canada?"

"…Who?" England said, frustratedly pinching the bridge of his nose and willing away his headache that was most certainly not because he was struggling not to cry.

"_Amerique's_ brother? Northern neighbor?" As none of what he said seemed to be ringing a bell, France sighed. "You won him in the Seven Years' War?"

"Oh! Canada! I completely forgot about him!" England noticeably brightened and scrambled for the phone, where Lithuania had been forgotten about somewhere along the line. "Er, sorry about that, Lithuania," England said quickly, "But I'm afraid I just got a lead on where Alfr…America is right now, so dreadfully sorry, but I've got to go!"

Without waiting for the Baltic nation to respond, England hung up and quickly dialed the numbers that France read off to him from his 'Contacts' list.

When the person on the other line picked up, England had to strain to hear.

"…Hello?" Canada said cautiously. "Look, if you're trying to sell me something, now really isn't a good time…"

"Canada, it's me," England said quickly. "I need to find America. I said some dreadful things to him and I'll go bloody mad if anything happens to him because of it." He paused, wiping what most certainly were not tears away from his face. "Do… do you happen to know where he is?"

There was the sound of wailing in the background, and England found his answer before Canada even had the chance to say anything.

"Oh! Thank God, so he is with you. May I… May I come see him? I need to… apologize," England managed, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

"Don't come here," Canada said resolutely. "I don't think you have any idea how bad you hurt him. So stay away or I swear to all higher powers anywhere that I will kill you if you so much as show your face to him ever again."

And the line went dead.

England turned to France and paled considerably when he saw the French-man's expression.

"Canada is never that protective unless something terrible has happened… _Angleterre_…" France said, and England noticed that, for once, France wasn't using a pet name for him, "What did you do?"

XXX

Tch. So maybe I've been reading up on Anti-Americanism in Europe and found that many English people resent Americans or dislike the American culture. No big deal, right? 'Cause in Hetalia terms this obviously wouldn't mean that my country's getting needlessly picked on or anything…

Oh who am I kidding. C'mere, America, and stop crying already!


	2. Chapter 2

**There is so much love for this story. It legitimately warms my heart, and just… thank you very, very much. **

**Also. Seriously, you guys—all of you commented on either Overprotective!Canada or how you were hoping that he would make good on his mental threats to England and technically that's just an extension of Overprotective!Canada himself, so… Um. I don't know quite how to feel about that, aside from poor England! Also, this WILL be USUK in the future, alright? No, not M-rated or anything like that, I doubt it'll even get up to a T-rating, save for minor language, but they'll definitely be getting back together. **

…**Um, yeah, on with the fic, lest I bore you more with my author preview. **

**XXX**

"_Angleterre_, what did you do?"

England shifted uncomfortably for a moment, awkwardly shuffling his feet with an expression that really didn't suit him, France noticed—England had never been one for obvious regret—and finally the Frenchman just put a hand on his northern neighbor's shoulder.

It was then that he noticed England had been talking—mumbling, really; a long, run-on sentence with a lack of grammatic structure that was more worrying, France mused, than what England was possibly saying.

"—And… and, well, you know I didn't mean any of it, right? I didn't mean for him to take me seriously, but I knew he did, and just, how could I not have noticed, the look on his face… just… it killed me, and how could I not have bloody seen it, how could I have just kept _talking_ for that long, pointing out everything that I'm sure he already knew were his flaws, and they're _not even flaws_, really, half of them are _endearing_ but he doesn't bloody know that and how did I not notice the look on his face until it was too late, I might as well have been committing bloody genocide and it wouldn't have been any worse, it was like his heart bloody _shattered_—"

"_Angleterre_."

"—And the worst part is that I got on Canada's case for doing the exact same thing to him, years ago, nevermind that Canada at least tried to hold back, and his personality's naturally quiet, and he's too polite to have done near as much damage as I just did, I'm such a terrible person, have you noticed it by now? I always pretend that I'm done being a pirate or a punk but no matter what I do I say the wrong thing and how could I have said all that to him, like that, just _everything_ out on the table and I was telling him that he was too loud, too rude, doesn't care about other cultures, stupid and abuses his bloody power to do the most idiotic things and his face… if you saw that bloody face, it was just… It just… his heart _shattered_! It _shattered_, France, it _bloody shattered_ and I couldn't stop him from leaving and I didn't even _try_, I was still in shock because he was starting to _cry_, France, he was bloody _crying_ and _America does not cry_ unless something absolutely bloody _terrible_ has happened, or when someone's abused his self-worth to the point where it's a bloody train-wreck, and lo and behold, I made it into a _train-wreck_, and how could I bloody do that to _anyone_, much less _him_? And the worst part is—"

"_Angleterre_."

"—Is that I bloody didn't even think what could have happened to him while I just stood there and let him get into his car and drive off, and _bloody hell why didn't I stop him_? He was crying, I could have stopped him easily, I know how much of a mess he gets to be when he cries and I can't believe I legitimately _made_ him cry, over something so stupid! It was a fricking toilet paper roll, I bloody well could have taken it for what it was and I should have stopped him from leaving, I shouldn't have said any of that, for God's sake I should have told him what an amazing person he was, distracted and playing video games _and all_, because he is, how could I ever have made him think that he _wasn't_ loved and cared about and, God, my favorite person in the world, no offense, France, we're friends and there's some part of me that still sees you as my older brother, but America is… is bloody America, and he's the sum of everything right in my world and he'll fight with me over the most stupid things and when he looks me in the eye I can tell that he means every word that he says—that hero complex makes him almost insufferably honest, and he's a bad liar to begin with—"

"_Angleterre_."

"—And just, he's, he's… everything to me, and I'm such a bloody fool for letting him think that I meant even a single word of that, I was just mad, probably in both senses of the word because someone would have to be completely bonkers to even consider letting him slip away like that, letting him think that any of what I said right there was the truth over every time I've ever told him what he really means to me, and I should have told him more often, maybe he wouldn't have believed me yesterday—or was it today? It feels like I've been talking forever—but, just, I should have just stopped and apologized and taken him out for ice cream or let him drag me to one of his God-awful movies and-and read Pride and Prejudice out loud for him until he fell asleep, or taken him to the park and let him do absolutely anything he bloody wanted, because he deserves those types of things, deserves someone who will take so much better care of him, and I don't deserve any of the things he's done for me, not once have I told him how much I truly, honestly appreciate all of it, and I'm such a terrible person, because—did you know he actually does things like randomly walking up to me and kissing me senseless, or can actually read the situation well enough to understand that I've had a truly awful day, but then it's not awful, _because he's there,_ and I don't deserve any of it, not him staying up till midnight or later to watch the release of Harry Potter or Sherlock Holmes with me, o-or spending all day with me at a bookstore even though he'd rather be playing something or watching something or going out to honest-to-God save someone's life or just make their day better—because did you know he actually does that? And on a daily basis! For all his hero talk, he actually does it, and I should have stood up for him more often when you guys would go on a rant against him, maybe then he wouldn't have believed me when I went on one of my own—"

"_Angleterre_!" And this time France said it while shaking England's shoulders, so his northern neighbor finally seemed to snap out of it. However, upon closer examination, there were tears in England's eyes, but they were quickly starting to leak out, running down his face no matter how stubbornly England wiped against them. France sighed, placing a hand on the other nation's shoulder, about to say whatever he had to just to keep him from _crying_.

To France's eternal displeasure, though, England just started to cry harder, and burrowed his head into the other nation's chest, making a somewhat pathetic grab at France's shirt.

France sighed again. "_Angleterre_," he said again. "You need to calm down, stop being so hard on yourself, _non_? _Vous êtes un frère adorable petit_…" he paused, somewhat hesitantly putting his arms around the crying nation. And he somewhat unknowingly slipped into his native language. "_Ne vous inquiétez pas tellement. Il sera tout droit, mon cher_."

England blinked up at him, trying in vain to wipe the tears away. "_Vous ... le penses vraiment_?" he asked, voice wavering just a little. And though his accent was off, it really was the thought that counted.

"_Je sais donc, mon doux petit Angleterre_," France murmured. However, when he saw England finally wince at the bright lights of his own office, the Frenchman frowned, just a little, and switched to English, so as not to aggravate the headache he was almost sure England was getting. "For right now, though, you should probably get some rest. You do not look so good, _mon cher_… We can discuss what to do when it is morning."

At that, England's already wavering confidence crumbled. "But… but how am I supposed to sleep when America m…might… when he might be crying, still? I can't sleep when there's something I can do about this!" And with that said, he re-buried his face in France's shirt, sniffling uselessly.

"Do not worry about _Amerique_, _Angleterre_," France said with a knowing smile. "_Canada_ will take good care of him, even if he will not allow you to see _notre petite doux Amerique_ right now."

England seemed to get even more upset over that, but fought an outburst and finally just nodded. "Alright. Just… I need to see him. As soon as I can…" And his words trailed off into little more than a mumble, and soon France found that his island neighbor had fallen asleep in the office.

France just gave a small smile and moved him to the small couch in the corner and found a blanket to cover him with. And after England looked comfortable enough, France really couldn't resist pressing a faint kiss to his forehead before hurriedly leaving the room, but not before he managed to bite out a, _"Dormez bien, ma douce petite Angleterre. Son frère aîné France prendra soin de vous._

XXX

Canada wasn't having the same luck with America.

No matter what he tried, he couldn't get his brother-nation to stop crying. And after the twelfth hour of crying, he decided to step back and find a better idea, as his previous ones—everything from all of America's favorite foods to video games to offering to talk to offering to beat the living daylights out of England (which just made America cry more) to something he really would rather not talk about which involved a chainsaw, a felled Maple tree and a cosmetics factory—hadn't worked.

America had cried a total of nearly fifteen hours, on and off, and while Canada was wondering how, exactly, anyone could produce that many tears—nation _or_ human—it didn't mean he wasn't worried. Really, it was extremely worrying, even though he couldn't have grown up with America without knowing that his southern neighbor was one to exaggerate to a fault.

Still. For every half-hour that America cried, Canada was planning to hit England with his serrated hockey stick. He'd have done it for every minute, but that was too many—and, alright, he had a feeling that America would just cry more at England's funeral and he did _not_ want that—and one for every hour was too few (only fifteen). So for now, England was at thirty hits.

Scratch that, his watch had just hit eleven-forty-five (P.M.), so that meant thirty-one hits.

And as much as Canada wanted to beat the living daylights out of England, more than anything he just wanted America to stop crying.

Sighing, he pulled out the hot cocoa once more and heated it up—again—as best he could.

"America," Canada said quietly, placing a meant-to-be-comforting hand on America's shoulder and pressing the mug of cocoa into his brother's hands none too gently. "You need to calm down. Eat something, watch a movie, just please, _please_ stop crying."

And America seemed to only cry harder at that, but there was a rather pathetic whimper that Canada struggled to decipher. "I can't eat 'nything 'cause England said 'm… f-fat, 'n my stomach hurts 'nyways and I feel like 'm g'nna throw up 'n it huuuuurts…." And, really, the fact that America just curled further up into himself and the blanket really didn't matter much to Canada, who very quickly grabbed his brother's wrist and wrenched him away from the cocoon of blankets America had made for himself.

America obviously scrambled, but his fifteen-and-a-half hours of crying had definitely taken a toll on him, and he had to admit defeat to an irate Canadian.

"This is why you haven't eaten anything _all day_?" Canada asked, voice even and frankly, terrifying.

The American just squirmed uncomfortably under his northern brother's glare before managing a pathetic nod. His chin was quivering too much for him to put much thought to sentence structure, but he managed to get out a rather shaky, "W-Well. Um. He, I… Kinda, we fought, alright? It's not a big deal, that isn't the only thing he said, just I kind of. Um. He…"

Canada blinked, glare momentarily gone as he struggled to piece America's voiced thoughts—they really didn't have enough structure to be thought of as statements or words, even—together.

And then his glare returned in full force as he put two and two together. "_You mean he said more than that_?" And without waiting for America to respond—the guilty aversion of his eyes was enough—Canada tightened his grip on his brother's wrist. "What all did he say to you? And don't you dare lie to me, Alfred F. Jones, because if I find that you're leaving something out—"

Of course right then his chin started quivering again, and Canada quickly found that he was being pushed into a heap on the floor, with America on top of him, hugging and clinging to Canada as if this was the _Titanic_ and he was the last lifeboat.

A few minutes later, America was still trapping him, but seemed to be finally, _finally_ calming down. And so Canada decided to risk asking again, though with a gentler voice than before. "So… do you want to tell me what he did to make you like this? I need to find out exactly what to do to him to pay him back in full for hurting my little brother like this."

And America just blinked up at him, eyes still watery and lip still quivering, but finally had stopped his fifteen—or had it actually gone to sixteen?—hour cry fest. "I… wouldn't want him to h-have to feel as bad as I do, ever." He paused, biting his lip for a moment before he seemed to regain his nerve, and finally continued speaking without looking his northern neighbor in the eye. "D'you think you c…could just… let it go? Everything'll be fine, okay? I promise."

Canada was nonplussed, and most certainly more worried for America's mental health than ever. He angled his brother-nation's head until it was impossible for America not to look him in the eye. "America…" Canada said quietly, once he was sure that his brother-nation was really, really looking at him. "He made you cry, and insulted you so badly that you couldn't _stop_ crying. He made you feel so insecure about your appearance that you honest-to-God were too insecure to eat _anything_. There is no part of that that's 'fine'." He paused, then glanced at the clock before making a decision on what to say next. "I need to know what he said to you so I can pay him back in full, but first, it's almost midnight. I'd say it's time to go to sleep. You can tell me in the morning."

And with that, Canada slowly disentangled himself from America's still-clinging arms and motioned to the spare bedroom that America always stayed in. In it waited a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush and the still-untouched mug of hot cocoa.

Even as America thanked his brother-nation and crawled into bed, though, the bed still felt too cold, too empty, and more than anything, he wished that England would just make things all right, like he always did—

He wished that England was there and reading him some boring old book until he fell asleep, wished that right as he was falling asleep he'd feel a sweet kiss on his forehead, wished that he could remember what it was like when 'idiot' was just a pet-name from years of overuse and not something actually intended to hurt. Wished that the England from before was there, the one who didn't let his temper get in the way of what he really meant, the one who was at least a little careful during arguments. The one who didn't mean to ever hurt him and tried not to. The one who America knew, always knew, was going to apologize, to stop the hurt, to give him a hug and a kiss and say that he didn't mean any of it, that America was his favorite person.

He missed that England.

And so he fell asleep hours later, still wondering what had changed.

**XXX**

**Alright, first a French translation: **

_**Angleterre**_**—England **

_**Non**_**—no **

_**Vous êtes un frère adorable petit**_**—You are an adorable little brother**

_**Ne vous inquiétez pas tellement**_**—You need to stop being so hard on yourself**

_**Il sera tout droit**_**—It will be all right**

_**Mon cher**_**—My dear**

_**Vous… le penses vraiment**_**?—You… really think so? **

_**Je sais donc, mon doux petit Angleterre**_**—I know so, my sweet little England**

_**Notre petite doux Amerique**_**—Our sweet little America**

_**Dormez bien, ma douce petite Angleterre. Son frère aîné France prendra soin de vous**_**—Sleep well, my sweet little England. Big Brother France will take care of you **

**And, um, I'm really sorry about how sad this chapter is, but, uh, things have to get worse before they get better, right? **


	3. Chapter 3

**Blindly attempting this… I know where I want my story to go, but good LORD is it hard to get there! Heh. Anyways, glad you guys are liking this! And a special thanks to the people who have reviewed not only one but two chapters of this! For those of you just reading this, reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy and make me less likely to forget my passionate love for this story. Just sayin'. **

**XXX**

It was a lovely morning in England—for the representation of England—for approximately ten seconds.

The birds were singing, the sun's outline at least visible behind the ever-present European cloud, the wind was actually bearable, and there was very little chance of rain that day. England mused that he would get some tea, maybe put some coffee on for America if his love looked especially tired that morning, then perhaps go out for some breakfast as it had been established long ago that neither of them should be allowed to cook.

And then came the realization that England was, in fact, in his _office_, not at home as he'd thought, therefore some distance away from his favorite tea. Immediately following that realization was the realization of a distinct lack of previously mentioned American love.

The realization that really ruined England's morning—and, well, his entire day, probably entire week and perhaps, if things went too terribly for the week, his entire month—was the memory of the previous day.

England just barely had time to grasp at the memory of America's hurt-and-nearly-to-tears face before his rational brain pushed it away—_no, bad England, this line of thinking will only be detrimental to your health, you need to stop before this gets out of hand, stop thinking about the tears in his eyes, stop thinking about how hurt he looked, stop it stop it stop it_—and he stood up, clearly ready to restart the day.

Because, above all else, England was ready to make things better.

He had to.

**XXX**

"Good morning," a sing-song voice announced, right next to America's ear. "I made some pancakes! I just remembered that you never did eat anything yesterday, and since you must be completely starving by now, I made extra, too."

America didn't budge, instead clinging to the fragments of sleep just a few moments longer.

"Come on, America…" the voice, which America had since deduced was Canada, as no one else would get that excited about pancakes or be so freakin' quiet, continued. He seemed to be getting a little upset that America wasn't responding, and started to shake his brother-nation's shoulder. "Get up."

"Lemme'lone,Iwannasleeeeeeeeeeeeep…" America groaned. Then, as an afterthought, "And shut the curtains… it shouldn't be so bright in here…"

"Someone's enthusiastic about today," Canada noted, raising an eyebrow—not that America could see it, as he'd since buried his head under the covers.

At this, America just burrowed further into his cocoon of covers. His voice was muffled, but there was a distinct, "Yeah? And what's so great about today?" that came out anyways.

"Today is the day you promised to tell me what happened, and before you do that, I need to make sure you get up and have a decent breakfast since you didn't have anything yesterday," Canada said matter-of-factly. Since America didn't absolutely trip over himself in new-found purpose, the northern twin added, "And they're my special chocolate-chip pancakes. With ice cream on the side."

At that, he actually got to see Nantucket pop out of the covers a few seconds before the rest of America's head followed. He looked up at Canada with traitorously hopeful eyes. "…D'you have chocolate syrup for the ice cream, too?"

Canada tried to hold back a smile. "Complete with whipped cream~" he practically sang. "So, you comin' out of there or am I going to have to bring it to you?"

America bit his lip, furrowing his brow in the way that meant he really wanted to ask something but was absolutely terrified of being turned down. Canada knew this look all too well.

"Mm? What is it you want, America?" he asked gently, placing a hand on where he assumed America's shoulder to be under the mass of blankets. "Remember, you're the one in charge here right now. Whatever you say goes. So don't feel like you need to hold back anything on your mind."

America battled with himself for a few seconds before he finally gave in. "Do you think we could watch a movie or something?"

Canada took this as 'I don't want to talk about what happened yesterday, and would like very much to be distracted for a few hours, possibly a full day.' He gave a knowing smile and nodded. "Sure. I think I still have that box set of Star Wars, so if you want, we could have a marathon."

The southern nation blinked up at him, surprised, before giving as brave a smile as he could manage. "Okay. Yeah, that'd be good."

There was a very distinct 'thanks' in the way America finally swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked as confidently as he could to the kitchen, Canada not far behind.

**XXX**

France was hardly surprised to find England already awake. The general un-put-togetherness of the island nation's appearance, however, was new. He hoped it wouldn't happen too often in the future (honestly, his wardrobe was one of the few redeeming features of his appearance), but supposed that England deserved a day or two of letting more important matters take their rightful place in his mind.

"Do I have something in my teeth, Frog," England practically growled at his southern neighbor, "Or am I so repulsive that you can't tear your eyes away?"

France sighed. It appeared that the sweet, honest England from the previous night had already been replaced with the usual grumpy and prone-to-snap-at-others one. "_Bonjour_, _Angleterre_." At England's barely suppressed anger at even hearing French, France rephrased. "Good morning, England. I trust that you slept well?"

"As good as I could, waking up every other hour with…" England trailed off.

"Nightmares?"

"No, no," England said with a frown. "Memories."

"I see." France sighed again. "You need to tell me what happened, _mon cher_, otherwise I will not be able to offer my advice in the ways of_ amour_…"

"I don't know why you think I need your help," England snapped. "I can handle my own affairs just fine on my own. I made one stupid mistake and suddenly everyone thinks that I'm incapable of feeling any human emotion. I know I made a mistake, and I'll be correcting it in time."

"Stop that," France commanded, eyeing England's reserved, uncaring, face with a frown.

"Stop what?" England narrowed his eyes and furrowed his rather impressive eyebrows, the very picture of someone who didn't want to be told they were wrong.

"That," France remedied, taking a few steps closer so he could smooth out his island neighbor's face, forcing the eyebrows and eyes to a relaxed position. "Don't use that expression. It makes people think that you honestly hate them."

"That's the point," England snorted, immediately ruining France's work by screwing his face back up into an arrogant sneer.

"Well, you need to stop it if you don't want… that… to happen again."

"'_That'_, what?" England asked, narrowing his eyes and positively daring France to confront him about his treatment of America.

"That thing you do that made America cry. Odds are you positively broke his heart, _mon cher_, and if you don't want this to happen again, you need to learn to recognize the faces that people make that may indicate deeper feelings than the obvious." He paused, frowning at England again. "Starting with your own."

"You're implying that I have a problem," England snapped. "And I don't. I made a single, stupid mistake. It won't happen again."

France sighed, deciding on a different approach. "You love him, do you not?"

"Of course I bloody love him," England growled. "Why would I have stayed with him for this long and done everything in my power to make him happy if I didn't?"

The Frenchman ignored the many words that England hadn't said (that France really wished he would have; honesty made things so much easier) and instead focused on what he had. "So you love him and want to make him happy. _Tres bien_…" He paused. "Would you do anything to protect him? Keep him from anything that would hurt him?"

"Of course I would. I have for years, haven't I? Always had his back in wars, always made sure I was present whenever I thought he needed someone to take care of him or talk to him?"

"Good. Very good." And France hesitated for just a moment. "But, _Angleterre… you_ hurt him yesterday. What are you going to do about that?"

England glared at him. "I'm going to apologize to him and make sure he still wants me. I thought I was quite clear on that before."

France hmm'ed in sympathy. "But… say this happens again. Will you do the same then, too?"

"I suppose I would, yes," England regarded him with an icy glare. "But I've already told you that this won't happen again. It was one mistake that I will take great care not to duplicate."

"Lovers always have their quarrels," France said decidedly. "Something like this will happen again. But your response, _mon cher_… it is not satisfactory. You need to do more than just apologize. What you did yesterday was cruel, cruel enough to make America distressed enough that Canada, sweet little Canada, threatened you. I do not know what all you did or said to him… But _Angleterre_…" he trailed off, furrowing his eyebrows at the island nation. "I will not allow you to stay with him if I feel you will do such a thing again. I hardly know the boy, but you forget that he is… like the brother of my little brother, so he is my brother, too. I will not permit any harm, emotional or physical, to come to him. Even if it is from you, _mon cher_… Especially if it is from you. You mean the world to him, that much is obvious. Your opinion of him matters to him, perhaps too much. You cannot be so cruel to him, or he will take it to heart and store it there forever."

England bristled at France's lecture, but kept his mouth shut, because the rational part of his brain knew it was sound advice, and England was nothing if not a rational thinker. And so he decided to accept the help that France was offering, though less than thrilled at the imminent criticisms of his character.

France seemed to notice the Englishman's decision. "_Tres bien_… Now finish up your breakfast, _mon petite lapin_. I will teach you in the more… complicated… matters of _amore_."

**XXX**

**This seemed a good a stopping place as any. Enjoy the chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry this is so late, but I've been busy with a few other projects. Creativity kind of slapped me with a fish lately, especially with original stuff… Still, enjoy this! **

**Ah, and I don't own Star Wars, either. (Small cameo. **_**Star Wars I: The Phantom Menace**_** FTW!)**

**XXX**

America, half terrified that Canada would attack him with questions while he was eating breakfast, put the movie in almost as soon as he was in the living room. Canada, of course, wouldn't have pestered him either way, but the fact that his brother-nation would have been panicked enough to even consider being picked and prodded at—_and verbally abused_, his mind supplied, fairly certain that _that_ had been what yesterday was about—like that…

Well, it didn't sit well with him.

Still, he had to check and see exactly how adverse America was to talking, even just talking about ordinary things. Fortunately, the DVD-player provided him with the perfect excuse. The television screen started to loop the same scene over and over ("But Master Yoda says that I should be mindful of the future. …Yoda says that I should be mindful of the future… Yoda says that I should be mindful of the future…").

"Dangit, I knew I should have replaced this disc a few years ago," Canada grumbled, risking a glance to his brother-nation. "But I've been fixing most of my DVDs with the toothpaste method… I dunno, this one seems kinda old for that, though. D'you think it's scratched or just dirty?"

America looked up at him with a somewhat ridiculous expression, as he'd been caught with his cheeks full of pancakes and his fork was still in his mouth. "'unno," he said, mouth still full. "'w bow'chu t'k 't 'wt 'n ch'k?" (Translation: _I dunno. How about you take it out and check_?)

"…Right," Canada said with an internal smile that he barely managed to restrain. It seemed that America was definitely making progress if he could at least handle a normal, everyday(ish) conversation. …Even if Canada was half dying inside because he _needed_ to know what had happened.

As it turned out, there weren't nearly as many scratches on it as it was just rather dirty with several fingerprints. Canada wiped it on his shirt and popped the disc back in, hoping that it would play back to the same point, as he wasn't exactly looking forward to having to search through the movie for the exact right spot. Fortunately, when he pressed play it went to the right location, and Canada sat back on the couch, fully intending to relax.

Unfortunately, America was hardly as willing to relax and sat on-edge for the next half-hour.

It was then that Canada noticed something rather peculiar. His brother-nation was sitting stiffly, yes, but that often happened when he was locked into a movie. No, it was something about the way he was sitting with his arms crossed over his stomach and, come to think of it, something about his expression seemed off, too.

"Do you have a stomachache or something?" Canada blurted, unable to restrain himself from wondering out loud whether or not his brother-nation was truly 'all right'.

"Huh?" America glanced up, startled and… guiltily? "Wh-what do you mean?" And he sat up slightly straighter, arms clutching tighter around his middle.

"Well, you're sitting like you have one, with your arms around your stomach like you're uncomfortable or… something," Canada pointed out, nodding his head at the way America somewhat hesitantly uncrossed his arms.

"N-No, I'm fine," America said, a little too loud and far too defensively for it to be the case.

Canada sighed, leaning back against the couch and trying in vain to watch the movie. After a few minutes, though, he snuck a glance at America and found that the other nation was doing all of those… things… he did when he was feeling insecure and thought no one was watching. Like picking the dirt out from under his nails, or letting his eyes roam around the room every few minutes as if he was afraid someone was staring at him, or doing a very stiff imitation of someone 'relaxing' (with his spine still perfectly straight, even as he was leaned against the couch, and his head tilted up ever-so-slightly).

The northern nation frowned, half tempted to just pause the movie and demand a real answer. Still, after what might have been another half an hour, Canada got fed up with just sitting there as his brother-nation had something close to a panic-attack. Looking for something to do, he spotted America's empty plate—with the syrup drying on it that Canada was _so_ looking forward to scrubbing off later.

"Do you want me to pick that up for you, or would you like some more?" Canada asked, picking up the syrup-y plate.

"Huh?" America snapped out of the half-trance he'd been in with watching the movie and glanced sheepishly over to his brother-nation. "Uh… N-no, I'm good. If… if I had anymore, I really would get a stomach-ache. You can just take the plate, if it's not too much trouble."

Canada somehow doubted that, as he hadn't heard America ask for seconds (when he usually had thirds, or if he was particularly hungry—as he should have been, after not eating for over 24 hours—fourths) and instead had eaten only the five pancakes that'd been handed to him, along with a small serving of the promised ice cream.

However, the decision of whether or not to ask if that was what America _really_ wanted was made for him when a very distinct growling noise was heard.

Before America could protest—no doubt with more excuses—Canada cut him off with his best 'you're my brother but by _all_ _higher powers_ you're an idiot!' glare. Still, seeing America's rather hurt expression, he just sighed and turned sharply on his heel.

"You are an absolutely horrible liar," Canada huffed, going back into the kitchen, reheating the pan used to make the pancakes, and quickly plopping a few of the already cooked ones onto it. "Now how many do you want?" And, seeing America's still somewhat distraught expression, added, "And you can have some more ice cream if you want. I know you like it because Lord only knows how often you eat it, and any other time I wouldn't be encouraging it, but today we can make an exception—"

He was completely clueless to why America had suddenly burst into tears.

XXX

"Tell me again why I'm here?" England asked, panting as he raised the load of cans over his head and onto the highest pantry shelf.

"I already told you, mon ami," France said with a somewhat self-satisfied smirk. "You are using this to learn how to organize your thoughts so that you can communicate what you feel."

England just sighed, pushing himself up and doing his best to stand on a lower step as leverage, but unfortunately his foot missed the opening and he nearly crashed to the floor for his efforts. "You couldn't have chosen a different method?" he grumbled, finally having organized the cans to all be facing the same way, labels forward, with the similar cans next to eachother.

"Ah, well," France grinned, placing an entirely unwelcome hand on the shorter nation's shoulder. "I also needed someone to organize my pantry."

The hands absolutely aching to go around France's throat may have had good reason for their twitchiness, but England had convinced himself that he could go an entire day—week, even—without hurting anyone, verbally or physically.

But it just _had_ to be _the frog_.

"You are looking mighty annoyed… and tense, _mon petit lapin_," France said with a leer. "Do you need some assistance with those aching muscles of yours?"

England managed to restrain himself from retaliating. Barely, but he managed. Besides, he knew that France was baiting him, and he knew that if he could resist France's entirely unwelcome advances on his worst day, then he could potentially keep from exploding on someone who he really needed to keep calm for.

"I would appreciate it if you'd keep your hands to yourself, Frog," England snapped, trying to keep his voice at a normal volume level. "Because, as you know, we're doing this only because I need to… be better… for America. It would defeat the purpose if you tried anything that only he is allowed to do."

And suddenly France's expression had changed into an honest smile, no tricks or (noticeable) perverted intentions. "Wonderful, _mon ami_! You are progressing even faster than I thought you would! Now, onto our next lesson!"

England just groaned and proceeded to be dragged along to whatever 'lesson' France had prepared.

XXX

"H-Hey, wh…" Canada started to ask, taking a hesitant step back towards the now crying nation. Unfortunately, his pancakes would burn if he left them on the hot pan for any longer, and so he quickly turned it off and took the freshly reheated pancakes off of it, dumping them haphazardly onto a plate before half-sprinting over to America with a napkin in-hand. "What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?"

"No! I'm f-fine!" America choked out, but fortunately seemed to be calming down already.

"If you were fine you wouldn't be crying," Canada pointed out calmly, trying his best not to sound as worried as he felt. "Now can you please tell me what happened to trigger this so I can make sure it won't happen again?" And he carefully pried the other nation's hands away from his face, gently using the napkin to dab away the tears so they wouldn't leave too obvious of tearstains.

America bit his lip, looking anywhere but at his brother-nation. "It's nothing, okay?"

Canada tried to suppress the urge to seriously throttle England for doing this to his brother, but he also had to try not to be too angry with said brother for, after all that he'd already tried to do for him, not telling him anything. Instead, he drug up his usual calm. "America… you know you can tell me anything, right? I won't get mad at you or laugh at you or anything like that. Whatever England did to make you like this, you can bet that I won't let him do it again. But I need to know what he said or did, _exactly_."

America still looked rather conflicted, so Canada decided to be patient for a while longer.

"Tell you what. You have some more breakfast since you're obviously starving, and after you're done, promise you'll tell me?" the northern nation asked carefully, holding out his pinky to his brother-nation.

America took it without hesitation, obviously not fully realizing what he'd just agreed to. It hit him a few seconds later. "W-Wait! That means…!"

"I will continue making you pancakes until you finally give in and tell me," Canada affirmed, managing to suppress the smirk hiding just behind his carefully neutral smile. "Which means that the longer you procrastinate, the more I can be certain that you're not turning anorexic on me." Seeing America's still conflicted expression, he added, "And, by the way, if you agree to tell me right away, I'll know for sure that something's _seriously_ _wrong_. Consider that."

And with that, he turned around and walked back into the kitchen, coming out moments later with the promised pancakes. America, though he looked ready to stab himself with his fork, no longer refused.

Canada took it as the first sign that things were finally starting to be 'okay'.

XXX

"France, we've been at this for hours," England groaned, scrubbing the next tile with as much strength he could still manage. "Can I please…?"

"No breaks," the French nation commanded, harsher than he'd intended. It was obvious from his less-than-relaxed stature, though, that he was at least as mentally drained as England was physically. "Just… keep scrubbing, _s'il vous plait_."

"But I've been playing housekeeper for you for nearly three hours, you bloody frog!" England exploded, face heating up from anger. "When will you finally let me stop?"

"When you've discovered the point of this exercise," France sighed, half tempted to reach for some wine. Unfortunately, he had (some) morals and it wouldn't quite feel right to relax as he was forcing his student to do his house-cleaning (he really did have a point to it all, but England was being uncharacteristically thick).

"Save it, frog," the island nation finally snapped, tossing the scrubbing-brush against the wall. "I don't know what it is you're trying to pull, but save it for someone who cares!" And, honestly, if England didn't have as much pride as he did (good thing or not), he'd probably have been in tears by then, albeit frustrated ones.

"_Angleterre_…" France groaned, re-adjusting his posture to what must have been uncomfortable standing position number eighty-seven. "Please just figure it out already."

"_I don't care_!" England snapped, trying in vain to massage his headache away. As his hands were still raw, red and smelled like soap from cleaning all day, it seemed to just make it worse. "I don't care and I just want to go _home_, and at this point I can honestly say that you're just taking advantage of my situation to make me your bloody house-keeper, but no matter what _you_ seem to think of me, I'm no one's servant! So either tell me what I'm supposed to be figuring out—_and it had better be bloody important_—or I'm leaving! I… I'll find someone else who can help me figure out how to win America back. Anyone! But…" Having been cleaning for so long already, holding back tears finally brought him to his knees, and he found himself getting his trousers even wetter against the soapy floor. "I just… really want to go home. Please, either show me how to fix everything with America… or let me just go _home_."

The room was silent, save for light footsteps towards England.

Of course, France was not a cruel person by any stretch of the imagination. Perverted, yes. He wasn't someone you would want to get locked in a closet with, either, nor was he someone that was usually good at holding a serious conversation with (though he really was good at things involving love, and even better with lust, unfortunately). But cruel or prone to taking advantage of people? Far from it.

That being said, it really shouldn't have been that much of a surprise to England when a throw-blanket was put over his shoulders and a gentle (if reluctant) hand was brought up to his face, drying tears that England wasn't fully aware had leaked out.

"_Il sera tout droit_…" France murmured, gently guiding the English nation into a sitting position. "_S'il vous plaît faites-moi confiance.._. _Cela ne peut fonctionner à la fin, je suis sûr!_" And he figured it really didn't matter what language he was speaking in, as the message was carried all the same.

"It doesn't matter now," England muttered, refusing to look his neighbor in the eye. "I'm useless at this. Nothing I do turns out right. I might as well give up now, if I can't even handle a few hours of cleaning…"

"It was to work on patience," France finally confessed. "Patience and diligence and continuing with something no matter how hopeless it seemed." At England's rising irritation, he added, "You did not know when I was going to tell you to stop, just as you do not know how long America will do something that is annoying you. I have heard your arguments before, _mon ami_. You constantly lecture him on anything he does that irritates you. If you want your relationship to work, then you need to learn to deal with things instead of attacking the people who force you to deal with things you do not want to do."

England stared at him a moment, carefully considering the Frenchman. "And you couldn't have told me this before?" he asked evenly.

"Because if I told you that you had to work on patience and diligence for America, you would have done it without a problem, because you are trying to impress me," France explained. "And you shouldn't be trying to impress me with your _acting_ skills instead of your _people_ ones."

The English nation considered this for a long moment, staring at his hands, still red and raw. Finally, he broke the silence, but still couldn't quite look France in the eye. "There is… hope though, I'm sure?"

"_Oui_," France agreed, smiling politely. "There is always hope. Now, shall we continue," he paused, glancing at England's still exhausted frame, "Or perhaps take a break for a few hours? Shall we make some lunch?"

"I…" he paused, chewing on his lip. "I don't care either way. The sooner I can be 'ready' to apologize to America, the better."

France sighed, but nodded nevertheless. "I suppose it is understandable, but just remember to take care of yourself. And… try not to change your personality. We are trying to reign in your temper, _mon ami_," he put an arm around his neighbor's shoulder, "Not the rest. Just remember that _Amerique_ fell in love with you, faults and all, and if you changed too much, regardless of whether or not it's for the 'better', it wouldn't really be you anymore, _non_?"

England sighed, nodding in silent agreement before he cracked a smile. "Then I suppose it's necessary of me to say that I'll always hate your cooking, frog, offering to make me lunch or no."

"Ah, you wound me, _Angleterre_!" France gasped, putting a mock stake through his heart. "I take it that means you'd be opposed to _escargots_, then, _oui_?"

"It amazes me to this day that you're even still alive with all the slime disguised as food that you eat," England rolled his eyes. "But I daresay that if frogs must eat, they should at least be allowed to dress up that sludge."

France raised an eyebrow at his island neighbor before standing. "And your burnt scones, painted with normal scone-colors, aren't dressed up?"

"Th-That was one time!" England protested, but followed France into the kitchen nevertheless. "And I'll have you know that those were never intended to be edible!"

"And yet _Amerique_ said they tasted just the same as always!" France grinned, but carefully dodged the harder-than-necessary mock-punches England was sending his way.

XXX

"I'm done," America called, looking at the empty plate with more than a little wariness. "Now how long do I have to keep doing this?"

"As long as it takes," Canada called from the kitchen, not even bothering to make eye-contact. He flipped another pancake with years of expertise and it landed with a sizzle on the pan. "Until I can be one hundred percent sure you're really all right. Remember last time you got insecure? You didn't eat anything but Japanese food until Japan kicked you out, and then almost burnt your kitchen down because you couldn't figure out how to make sticky-rice. And then you came crying to me afterwards about what really happened, and I had to threaten England until he apologized." He flipped the pancake over a few times to make sure it was perfect. "And I really, really don't want to have a repeat of that."

"What, the threatening England part?" America asked, curious despite himself.

"No, the you crying part," Canada verified, walking back into the dining area with another small stack. "This time seems a little worse, so I might have to actually follow through with my threats from last time."

America frowned at the pancakes but picked up his fork nonetheless. "…What threats were those," he paused, swallowing the first bite, "exactly?"

"That if he ever made you cry again, I'd put a hockey stick through his brain," Canada said smugly, but instead of walking back into the kitchen, he sat down at the table with his brother-nation. "And I think that'll do it on the pancakes. But definitely tell me if you want more."

"Yeah, right, I put up such a fuss earlier because I really want _more_," America deadpanned, giving Canada a weak glare.

After several minutes, the southern nation's plate was cleared, and Canada moved the dirty dishes to the sink so the syrup wouldn't dry on it. "Now, I'll give you a few minutes to prepare everything you want to say, but after that, you really need to tell me. Deal?"

"Deal," America mumbled.

XXX

England glared at France from over the plane of dough that he was trying in vain to 'knead' (whatever that was). After what must have been the thirtieth 'correction' (with a rolling pin to his head in a 'gentle nudge') on what he was doing wrong, England decided that he'd had it.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, Frog," England growled, eyes turning dangerously light, "But America hates my cooking anyways, as does everyone else. Why do you want me to even bother, if we both know I'll probably just end up burning your kitchen down?"

France leered at him, but he fortunately kept his hands to himself. "Ah, but _mon petit lapin_… It is such fun to see you fail!"

The island nation forced himself not to say anything without forming a careful reply first. Fortunately, he could easily just turn his attention back to the dough he was supposed to be kneading instead of having to look France in the eye while replying. "While that may be the case for you," he said evenly, "It's hardly as entertaining for me. Now either show me how to do this without hitting me in the head with that bloody rolling pin," and his voice rose just a smidge, but a warning glance from France told him to reign himself back in, "Or take it over yourself."

France, unfortunately, didn't give up as easily this time as he had the last. He let out his signature laugh, coming that much closer to England—_Easy, old chap, he's just riling you up, it's no big deal, you're doing this for America and… What the bloody hell is he doing with his hands?—_and gave an eerily familiar leer in place of a smile. "Ahhh… but _mon cher_, the rolling pin was gracing you with its skill, as that is the only way someone as bad at cooking as you would actually come in contact with one of these."

"Hands off, you bloody Frog!" England snapped, as the unwanted physical contact—let's be honest, _groping_—was nearly impossible to not respond to.

France sighed, apparently realizing that he couldn't get away with it after all. Instead, he put on his best truly apologetic face (a slightly awkward rendition of America's). "You are right, _Angleterre_… Perhaps touching you was not the… _heroic_," and England flinched at the trigger word, suddenly aware that this, too, was a challenge, "Thing to do. For that I am truly sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

England repressed the still burning anger inside of him at being touched against his will. "I suppose forgiveness is necessary," he said as evenly as he could, "But… don't do that again. I've let you get away with it many times before, but in the future, I have to ask that you respect me."

The French nation nodded his head seriously—almost seeming to actually be agreeing to it—before clapping his hands together. "_Magnifique_! Now, Angleterre. Change the situation around. Does what you just said sound familiar?"

And England couldn't help the 'O' that his mouth made, or the sputtering half-refusal before it finally sunk in. He paused, nervous, before he reclaimed control of his voice. "You mean to say…"

France nodded, prompting him to continue.

"…That my… somewhat over-the-top lectures… are just as bad as what you do to me," England purposely left off the words 'and other nations' as he didn't want to get into an argument (for once), "…if not worse?"

"What you do is definitely worse," France corrected, smiling somewhat hopelessly at his 'student'. "Emotional hurt lasts much longer than physical hurt. And that you never realized you were doing it, well, what can I say to make this seem any less… harsh… than it is…?"

England bit his lip, turning his face away to hide his burning cheeks. Embarrassment, it seemed, was far better than pure, raw shame.

"Angleterre," France sighed, taking a step towards the other nation. When England refused to look up, he grabbed the English nation's chin and forced him to look up. "_Non, non_. Look me in the eye of your own will, too." And England finally risked an honest glance up. "_Tres bien_… Now, despite what you may think, there is still a good deal of hope in this situation. You have realized what you have been doing wrong exactly, and you are more than ready to right the wrongs you have made," at England's almost hopeful expression, France sighed again. "But here comes the hard part, too."

"What could be harder than this?" England asked, frowning ever-so-slightly.

"Even if you do keep _Amerique's_ love," France explained, "You have to still win back his trust, along with Canada's and the rest of _Amerique's_ friends and family."

"His friends?" England asked hesitantly. "Why on earth would I have to do that?"

"As of right now, they do not trust you to take care of him," France said. "Nor should they. I do not think I need to tell you why, though. I… feel you have heard it enough, if not from me, from inside your own mind." He frowned, distracted. "But do not let it trouble you too much. You still have much to learn before you can be one hundred percent trusted to speak with _Amerique_ again."

England nodded, but couldn't quite keep his head at its normal position, and instead found himself staring at the ground for the majority of the next 'lesson'.

XXX

"Okay," America said with a sigh. "Might as well get this over with…"

"Might as well," Canada affirmed, giving his brother-nation a pat on the shoulder that was meant to be reassuring. America flinched at it, though, and the northern nation immediately withdrew his hand.

"All right," America took a deep breath. "It all started with an argument. A really, really stupid one, too. I was playing video-games with the volume up, and I didn't really hear England the first time he called me. I don't really remember what he was asking me to do, but I… well, that doesn't really matter," he paused, biting his lip. "Finally, I guess England got fed up with me 'ignoring him', even though I really wasn't and just had the volume up a bit too loud. He came to find me and was, well, kind of predictably mad at me, and kinda started yelling at me. Nothing we haven't done before, and before you say something about how he's a jerk for doing that," America said quickly, "I've done the same thing to him, so it's not like that part really matters all that much. We're supposed to fight, y'know?" He paused, taking another deep breath. "A…Anyways, I got fed up with him yelling at me and so I started to argue back, but it turned into an insult-fest really quickly. We were pretty evenly matched and stuff, but then…"

"Then what, America?" Canada asked quietly, fighting back the urge to give his brother-nation a hug, as he knew he'd just push him away.

"He… I dunno, said something that just stunned me into silence, and I guess he took my silence to continue?" America asked, biting his lip again before he resumed his train of thought. "And, well, he just… started saying all this crap, and pointing out everything that he thought was wrong with me, everything I've ever done, it seemed like, that he didn't like and crap. At first I didn't mind too much, 'cause, hey, it's England, y'know? Kinda world-famous for kicking and screaming and saying stuff he doesn't mean. But it just sort of… continued. For a really, really long time, and I was just… stunned, I guess? I couldn't get a word in edgewise to defend myself, and he just kept going. England just… he criticized everything I stood for, whether it was in the past or the present, and my appearance and my personality and just… everything."

America stopped talking for a while, and just stared at the ground, as if debating what to say next.

Canada, however, finally gave into the urge to hug him, and fortunately America didn't squirm away, just going still in his brother-nation's arms. "Anything else…?"

"Just… he said one more thing, and I dunno why I ranked that as so much more important than everything else," America said quietly, "But it did. Maybe 'cause it really hurt because he already knew it was a sore-spot for me and I'd already struggled with thinking that before?" America half-asked, half suggested, and looked for all the world lost. "But… anyways. He kinda said that I was… y'know, _fat_, and then just kept on going with that for a while. And he looked guilty while even saying it, so I know he regretted it, but just… if you regret something, you don't keep on saying it. A…Anyways, I tried to get him to stop, I guess saying something like that finally made me snap out of it a little, I guess, and I asked him to just… stop saying all that, but then he basically told me that he could say whatever he wanted to say to me for however long he wanted to say it, and I just… snapped, a little. I ran out the door and drove here."

Canada frowned, not just from the story itself, but from the half-formed tears in America's eyes at having to remind himself of all of that. But Canada didn't say a word, instead just hugged him tighter, and kept his opinions carefully quiet.

Because, after what England did?

Canada was already plotting the ways to _make him pay_.

XXX

England stopped in his tracks, suddenly feeling a chill go up his spine.

"What is it, mon ami?" France asked, concerned.

"I don't know," England said carefully, glancing around himself. "I just have a really bad feeling right now, that something terrible is going to happen…"

**XXX**

**TRANSLATIONS:**

**S'il vous plait: please**

**Il sera tout droit: It will be alright**

**S'il vous plaît faites-moi confiance: Please trust me**

**Cela ne peut fonctionner à la fin, je suis sûr!: This will work out in the end, I'm sure of it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Introducing a few other characters. **

**XXX**

Seven hours, six attempts to get comfortable on the couch (with it ending up as America and Canada curled up in a blanket together, using eachother as somewhat awkward body-pillows, while clutching actual pillows to put their heads on), five attempts on Canada's part to make America a late lunch, four ignored phone-calls, three (and a half) Star Wars movies, two cartons of ice cream, and one more break-down later, America finally seemed to be getting back to his old self.

Finally.

"You've gotta be freakin' kidding me," America muttered. "I mean, I'm pretty sure they didn't think of it at the time or whatever, but… he just kissed his sister!" He made a disgusted face. "That's just… I mean, it's one thing with nations, when you just sorta pop outta the ground and look like a couple other people, but even then it's sort of weird… Like if Romano and Italy got together!"

Canada chuckled. "Or Prussia and Germany?"

"Or you 'n me!"

"Or Ireland and Scotland!"

"Or Ukraine and Belarus!"

"Or Belarus and Russia?" Canada supplied.

"Esh. She actually likes him…" America shuddered. "Personally I try to avoid all things Commie. No one should be subjected to that sorta madness! That's why—"

"I know, I know," Canada sighed, cutting him off. "That's why you bought Alaska. To protect me from the evilness of Communism. You've told me before."

"I have?" America asked, blinking. "'Cause I didn't think I had…"

"You say it at least once every time you see me."

"And… Do I say—"

"Yes, America. You say 'Don't say I never did anything for you, bro.' Every. Single. Time." Canada gave a weak, 'I'm used to it, don't even bother apologizing' sort of glare, to which America just laughed sheepishly.

"You've reeeeally gotta work on being easier to remember." America paused. "And you're sure I've already told you—"

"_Yes_, America."

The clipped tone was more than enough for the American nation, who started to laugh, bringing the northern nation into a noogie. "Yeah, well, I might as well say it again, right?"

"For the love of—" But Canada was promptly cut off by the unfortunately familiar feeling of the 'noogie' and gave a series of curses as protests that probably shouldn't be written down here. "Lemmego! Lemmego lemmego lemmego! No fair!"

"Ah? What's that? I see you, but I don't think I can hear you~!"

The teasing tone wasn't lost on Canada, who promptly started to struggle harder, but as was normally the case with a superpower, he found that he couldn't really escape.

A knock on the door, however, broke both out of their moment, much to Canada's relief and America's supreme disappointment.

With a sigh, Canada disentangled himself from his southern neighbor and walked, somewhat unsteadily, to the door, opening it cautiously. To his surprise, he found Japan on the other side. Had Canada been trying to hide the fact that America was in his house, his plans would have been thwarted by the yell across the house: "Hey! Canadia! Who's at the door?" Still, Canada had to at least try to maintain some sort of composure.

"…Konichiwa," Japan said cautiously, trying in vain to peer around the Canadian nation. "I came to see America-san. I wourd rike very much to see him…"

"You here on your own, or did England send you?" Canada asked, suspiciously narrowing his eyes at the Japanese nation.

"I came on my own," Japan said, still cautious. "I want to see for myserf that America is arr right." He paused, eyeing Canada just as suspiciously. "Why? Has he contacted you…?"

"Fortunately, not more than once," Canada replied. He spared a glance to the phone, which showed the four missed (ignored) calls from throughout the day. "Well, actually I'm not sure. I haven't exactly picked up since he called the first time."

"That is good." Japan nodded. "I think it wourd be best if they stay away from eachother for a rittle whire." He waited a beat, before carefully averting his eyes. "Again, I wourd… very much rike to see America for myself. Wirr you ask him if it is arr right for him to receive visitors right now?"

"Two seconds," Canada said, shutting the door. A few crashes could be heard from where Japan stood, but he patiently waited for the door to open again. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait too long for an answer, because mere moments after he heard an excited, very American, shout ("Dude, no way! Japan's here, for real? That's awesome! Let him in!"), the door was opened to reveal the North American brothers, with one noticeably more excited than the other (who seemed to be muttering something about headaches going through the roof).

"Dude! You… You're seriously here?" America asked, practically bouncing at the excitement. But his excitement crashed when a thought crossed his mind, automatically voiced. "Wait, England didn't send you, right?"

"No, America-san," Japan said, still cautious but with a fond half-smile working its way onto his face. "Do arr North-Americans ask that when they first open the door?"

"Only after they've had their hearts ripped out and stomped on," America said, feigning his customary cheerfulness. "So, you gonna come in or what? We're just watching a Star Wars marathon, and we're already into Episode Five. D'you wanna watch, or you have somethin' else in mind?"

Canada wondered briefly how easily America could invite people into his neighbor's house, but didn't voice it as Japan's visit seemed to be cheering America up further, which was his first priority. So, he carefully moved out of the way and allowed the Japanese nation inside, fully content to be ignored for a little while. It would help his headache, anyways.

"Arigato," Japan said, calm as ever. "I thank you for retting me over on such short notice, but I did try to carr. You did not pick up the phone after the first few tries, so I stopped carring. Unfortunately, by then I was already most of the way there."

America nodded, enthusiastic as ever, before a second wave of suspicion came over him. "Wait, how'd you know I was here?"

"Rithuania told me," Japan amended, bowing his head in apology. "I had gotten a call from Engrand asking for your whereabouts, and Rithuania did was carred shortry after me. He carred me a few minutes after Engrand-san hung up on him, but had heard from a conversation in the background between France and Engrand that you were staying in Canada, at reast, that was before Engrand hung up on him." Japan paused, partly out of breath. "And then Rithuania-san called me. He could not come here himserf, but he extends his condolences upon England's misconduct. We both agree that it was out of rine."

America smiled—a watery smile, which prompted Canada to stand a bit closer, just to be careful, though he was fairly certain that America wasn't going to cry any time soon—before averting his eyes. "Uh, I'll have to call Lithuania to thank him personally. And…" he paused, glancing back up. "Thanks, Japan."

"It is no probrem," Japan assured him. "It is important to be there for your friends, hai?"

"Yeah," America agreed, then seemed suddenly aware of Canada's absence. "Uh, dude? Y'do know that I haven't already forgotten ya, right?"

"Oh!" Canada startled from a few feet away, giving an uneasy glance to the kitchen. "I was actually just about to make everyone some lunch."

America gave him a glare that put up a pretty weak protest, but Canada met his glare with quite a bit more force, giving a quick glance to Japan as if to say '_yeah, you can't refuse to eat if someone else is here, remember?_' before walking a bit more determinedly into the kitchen.

"Say, isn't it rather rate in the afternoon to eat runch?" Japan suddenly inquired, glancing up, confused, at the brother nations.

"Yeah, it is, you made a pretty good point, Japan, and y'know what, I think I'll just wait till dinner, I'm not that hungry anyways—" America said, quickly reverting to his nervous rambling.

"I meant that it is strange that you haven't already eaten," Japan said, giving a slight warning glance to the taller nation. "Are you irr?"

"S-Sick?" America stuttered, backing up, suddenly even more nervous. "No! Er, actually, yes, I am, I think I should just go up to bed, actually, so if we can call it a night right now that'd be great—"

By that point, Canada had sensed an escape-attempt and had caught America's arm right as he was about to back out of the living room and go up the stairs. "Oh, no you don't. Come on, you can't just _not eat_. Now you're going to have lunch whether you like it or not. And dinner, too."

"But…" America leveled another weak glare up at the northern nation. "I don't want to!"

Japan, sensing an argument quickly developing, intervened. "America-san," he started, taking a few steps forward and successfully gaining both nations' attention. "I think it wourd be best if you ate rike usuar. You are stirr upset, hai? So you do not want the stress of this to make you irr, after arr. However, if you are worried about gaining weight, I can make you something more hearthy. Wourd you rike that better?"

America sighed, sensing that he'd been beat, and nodded. "Sure, I guess…"

Canada sighed in relief at that, and shot a happy—if a bit weary—smile at Japan. "Thanks. Do you need any help making it?"

"I wourd not mind either or your herp, actuary," Japan said, matching the smile. "Arigato."

**XXX**

**I know this doesn't touch up on France and England, buuuut, I figure this is a pretty good stopping point. **

**Until next time! And… Read and Review, please!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the long wait! I got distracted by a few different things, but the much awaited update has arrived at last. **

**XXX**

"So, _Angleterre_…" France said over a glass of wine, watching somewhat smugly as England squirmed, having not had any alcohol, himself (and France honestly couldn't help but feel at least a _little_ smug; they _did_ have a famous rivalry, did they not?). "You should tell me about the last conversation you and _l'Amerique_ had, _non_?"

"I…" England hesitated. "I… don't know why it concerns you," he said after a moment's pause. "Somewhere amidst your quest for improving me, you still haven't grasped that I don't want to remember what went on that night."

"I think you have forgotten that this isn't about you, mon ami," France corrected him. "It is about _Amerique_. And whether or not you acknowledge that is your own choice, but I agreed to be a guide to you, _non_?"

"Yes," England grudgingly agreed, "But that doesn't mean—"

"Actually, I think it does," France cut in, before England could even say what, exactly, the thought it meant. "And, as a guide, and as a friend of both you and _Amerique_, I am obligated to see this through until the end. You are to tell me what went on, show me your repentance and plan for improvement. I am to keep you on track, make sure that no… ah, _resentment_, rises up within you, and most importantly, keep what happened that night that from ever happening again." He leveled a firm stare at England, who matched it defiantly. "Do I make myself clear, _Angleterre_?"

"Crystal," England muttered.

"_Tres bien_," France said with a rather satisfied smirk. "Now. A one hundred percent accurate account of what happened that night, if you please?" And when England didn't reply automatically, he added, "And don't think I don't know how to get Truth Serum. I know that Russia has some, and he and I are on fabulous terms… And, if I do recall correctly, he has a rather firm stance on being the only one 'allowed' to harm our little _Amerique_?"

England narrowed his eyes at the other. "If you're threatening me, I hope you know it won't work."

"Glad to see that our little lessons haven't robbed you of your charming hot-temperedness." France gave a wry smile over the top of his wine glass. "Now, the story, if you please?"

England huffed and turned away, but it was easy enough to make out his words, even if he was muttering. "It actually started before America even knew it…" At France's questioning look, he added, "Fine. I was already in a cross mood that day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on him. I already knew that—I knew it seconds after everything had happened. But I wasn't thinking clearly."

"And what, exactly, happened that day that made you so angry?" France asked, sipping his wine. "Because if I recall correctly, it was the day of a World Meeting, but nothing seemed too out of the ordinary to me…"

"That's because it happened after almost everyone left, you insensitive wanker," England snapped. Upon realizing that he had, again, lost his temper, he groaned, holding a hand to his head and sunk down further into the chair. "You have my… sincerest apologies. I'm afraid I'm still getting rather worked up, even at just the memory."

"_Oui, oui,_ now get on with it," France said, waving a hand as if England's bad temperament was nothing more troublesome than a fly.

England glared at him. "That comment you made about me during the meeting. Do you remember it?"

"The one about your eyebrows? Or did I make fun of your cooking? Bad temper?" France tapped a finger to his chin thoughtfully. "I have so many things to torment you about that I can't seem to remember what I said…"

England had to forcibly restrain himself from attacking the Frenchman. He grit his teeth and counted to ten, painfully slowly, until his anger had subsided into a manageable level. "None of those. Think harder—I'm sure even a brain as neglected as yours could think of something."

France chuckled humorlessly. "Oui, I am just messing with you, _Angleterre_. I mentioned something about you and Amerique being ah… How you say, rather… sweet, together?" He tilted his head to the side in confusion. "I do not see how that would offend you, _mon ami_. Care to enlighten me?"

"You don't seem to grasp that it's none of your business, frog," England snapped. "And it wasn't so much that you said that—even though, again, it was absolutely none of your concern whether or not we were 'sweet' together—as it was the comments that came afterwards."

"You mean when I mentioned how much of a pedophile you were?" France smirked. "Or how lovely it was that you finally started showing up for festivities on _Amerique's_ Independence Day? Because I'm not sure which one of them enraged you most." Upon seeing England's outraged face, France sighed and explained. "_Mon ami_… Surely you have realized by now that half of what I say is simply said to ensure that you are acting yourself, and to check that you haven't lost your quick-temperedness."

"That said," England said tensely, looking as if he'd grit his teeth while talking if he'd been any angrier, "I think every nation in the meeting room knows that you don't comment on things like that."

"About the pedophile comment…" France said slyly, "You do realize that one of my best friends is Espana, do you not? And as for the comments about _Amerique's_ birthday festivities…" he paused. "It was a compliment, _Angleterre_. I was honestly congratulating you for finally getting over your grudge." He paused again, looking thoughtful, before continuing, "But then, as you put up such a fuss about the whole thing, I no longer think you have let go of your grudge. It is a shame."

"I am over it!" England shouted, standing up to his full height (though it was hardly impressive; he was perhaps a centimeter or two shorter than France, had the other nation stood up as well). "I've been over it for more than a century! Why does no one think that I can move on? I was an empire; he was nothing more than a colony, though I do admit he was …rather a favorite, but that doesn't mean that I was torn up for years and years about it!"

"You are shouting, _mon ami_," France pointed out, voice firm and even. "Kindly stop."

"You're in no position to tell me what to or what not to do, frog!" England said, louder than before. "I'll say whatever I'd like to say, and you can't—"

At that precise moment, England realize he'd just said something quite similar to America, only a few days ago. He paled and sat back down, clutching to the arm rests until his knuckles turned white.

"Have you reigned in your temper yet?" France inquired, sipping at his wine for another moment. When England finally nodded—paling further, until his face hardly had more color than a sheet of paper—France set the glass down and clapped his hands together. "_Tres bien_. Now, I think we have both come to realize that your biggest issue is with pride, _non_?"

"P-Pride?" England asked nervously. "Wh… Why would you suggest such a thing? I'm not prideful!"

"Your history begs to differ, _mon ami_," France said, his tone bordering on condescending.

"Just because I was a pirate way back when and had a slight relapse in the sixties does not, under any circumstance, mean that I'm still prideful! I'm not so arrogant, anymore, to assume that I can rule half the globe anymore, either! So why on earth would you make such an assumption, frog?" England snapped, regaining his voice. His previously pale face flushed with an indignant red.

France sighed again—he seemed to be doing that a lot, lately. "Having pride is not limited to just that, you know."

"Enlighten me."

France raised an eyebrow. "Very well then, _mon ami_." He paused a moment to gather the right words. "It is… pride that made you refuse to grant America's independence way back then." He glanced to England's still indignant face. "Do you disagree?"

"I bloody well do, frog!" the shorter nation all but snapped. "You've some nerve, bringing that up!"

"You also refuse to let anyone bring it up. That is also pride." France smirked. "You know how I know all this?" And when England didn't respond in any way other than setting his lips in a grim line, he continued, "You do not like being reminded of losing. It was the same with many of your other colonies, too." Before England could protest, though, France hurriedly continued. "It is not always a bad thing, though. You have to understand—pride is also what kept you from falling to Germany, and is what set you apart from nearly every other nation when it came to war."

"And now you're going to spew some nonsense about how it is a necessary but dangerous thing to have, I presume?" England deadpanned. "If so, kindly hush up about it. I've heard it all before."

"Have you?" France asked, looking mildly surprised. "And might I ask why you never took their words into consideration? Might it be because you do not like to feel accused, even if their words are not directed at you?"

"I don't know what you're playing at," England growled.

"Obviously you will feel guilty if people describe you in an honest light," France explained, though there was a twinge of a condescending tone in his voice. "I do not know what excuses you make for yourself, see, but in any sort of honesty, there is little doubt that you will be found guilty of being cruel." He paused. "But, again—I am simply stating my theories. How, exactly, do you fare when you hear lectures about your pride?"

England frowned at him. "This… this conversation is pointless," he huffed. "Aren't we supposed to just be focusing on how I can stop losing my temper, and how I can make it up to him the next time I get to see him?"

France sighed. "You would think that, wouldn't you, mon ami…" He shook his head sadly, taking a melodramatic sip of his wine. "There is not a romantic bone in your body if you cannot see that you have not only hurt him, but yourself, from denying yourself closure for your issues with pride…" He paused. "Whether you agree or not, I suspect that your idiotic pride came from your Empire Years."

England remained conspicuously quiet.

"So I see…" France said, sitting forward with interest. "I assume you know that your silence is your downfall, non?"

"Sh-Shut up, frog," England said, but the venom that was normally in his voice had disappeared. "If you're so set on 'fixing me', then by all means, give it your best shot."

After a moment's pause, France downed the rest of his wine and stood up, crossing to where England was sitting, then taking the other's hands before England could protest. "You are great at understanding when you want to be, mon ami." He gave a smile that was somewhere between a smirk and a whimsical smile. "We have made great progress."

England looked ever-so-slightly hopeful at that. "Oh? And… Well. What's next, then?" He asked.

"You go to sleep," France said with a chuckle. "You have had a long day." At England's disappointment, he quickly added, "But rest assured, we have much more to do tomorrow. That is why you need your rest, non?"

England frowned, but nodded nevertheless. He glanced around. "…Where will I be sleeping?" And when France didn't answer right away, he stamped his foot and pointed an accusatory finger at the Frenchman. "This is one of your tricks, isn't it? Play 'Distinguished Mentor' but the whole time, you're just trying to get me into bed!"

France merely laughed. "While I admit that game would be very… fun," he said playfully, "I am afraid you are getting the wrong idea about me…"

"Just tell me where I'm going to sleep," England snapped. "I've dealt with your 'games' all day."

"Ah, well," France sighed, "I suppose you really do need all the beauty-sleep you can get…" Before England could shout any of his customary indignant comments, France continued, "Down the hall, and the first door to your left."

England muttered a few obscenities under his breath, but went to the guest room nonetheless.

After France was sure England had closed the door and couldn't hear him, he flopped back onto the sofa and stared dramatically up at the ceiling. "Why must he be so difficult…?"

But, of course, there was no answer. France headed up into his own room a few minutes later, unwilling to admit that he'd need just as much energy or more than England, simply to deal with the Brit's horrible defensive behavior.

**XXX**

**Oh, fine, here's your update, guys. I hope you're happy. No, kidding, I really do love working on this story. I've just been distracted is all. Hopefully the next update will be soon.**


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